


her lovers in captivity

by signalbeam



Category: Gunnerkrigg Court
Genre: Gen, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signalbeam/pseuds/signalbeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surma comes skipping barefoot back from the woods with daisies in her hair and bands of foxglove on both wrists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	her lovers in captivity

Surma comes skipping barefoot back from the woods with daisies in her hair and bands of foxglove on both wrists. When she sees that it's Jones waiting for her, she stills, then resumes down the rest of the bridge path at a walk. 

"What are you doing here?" she asks when she's near. Her makeup is smeared, and her lipstick is gone. But of course, Jones saw that before she saw Surma. She sees now why James is so jealous, and why Tony prefers not to come. 

"I volunteered," says Jones. 

Surma doesn't thank her. She straightens her hair, and walks a little faster. Surma's back is a wave of red fire and her eyes are determinedly fixed at the clock tower ahead. Poor girl, too used to people loving her that she never learned to manage people's apathy, or their distaste. Jones smooths her face, silences her ungracious eye.

"The headmaster wants to know how Coyote is," she says. 

"The same," says Surma. "I don't see much of him these days. It's mostly just me and Reynardine." She holds up her wrists against the sun. In the light, they look ruddy at the tips, and well-kissed. "We didn't do anything today except make daisy crowns. I made some for him, too, but he kept eating the flowers." 

"Those are foxgloves," Jones says, nodding to Surma's hands. Surma stiffens. Her hair seems to ripple with displeasure; but it's important that someone says things frankly to Surma, when everyone around her loves her too much. She could point out the poison, or she could leave it at the aesthetics. Instead she says, "I didn't know foxes liked to eat them."

"Well, you'd know, wouldn't you," Surma says snappishly, blushing and embarrassed. Surma rubs at her pale mouth, maybe remembering the kisses of boys or just their nervous, dewy palms on the tops of her hands, none as bold or as earnest as the dog. Her crown, ruffled by a breeze, sends petals into the wind, and so they go, one after another after another, past Jones' ear, the noise white and soft: _she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me,_ faster and faster until all she hears is a low whine insisting, _she loves, loves, loves me_.


End file.
